The Whole Tarnished Affair
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: Oh! How horrible, the death of a good man. (Young!Munro drabble)


_/young!munro, smoll!Charlie, a drabble about grief. From my tumblr, leave a review if you liked it!_

There is a mirror in the hospital, a large, slightly tarnished affair, one that has probably been hanging here since the first World War, and I am examining my new scar in it.

The wound itself was roughly the size of a large coin, and sat flush against the skin. Around the wound, there is a second, much larger scar caused by the infection. It covers most of my shoulder, spreading out in a huge slightly red hand print from the Senior Sergeant over skin and down into my bones.

I was not meant to take the bandage off yet, but I have in order to see the scar. I have to see what has been done to me. I think of him, lying there, riddled with more bullets then I can count, my bloody hands trying to cover them all at once.

Someone is screaming. In hindsight, I realise it was me. There are still bullets flying past me, past my face. We are alone.

His methods were frowned upon by the rest but had me enthralled. He could solve a murder alone if you gave him the leeway. If you let him loose. If you ignored the protocol. I had warned him often of the things that may happen to him, if he went off like this. He ignored me.

Am I fool, do you think, for thinking he was impervious to death? Oh! How horrible it is, to love something that death can touch. Oh! What a terrible thing it is, the death of a good man. I turn my eyes downwards to the scar, the stitches that put me together, stop me from falling to pieces right here on the sterile and cool floor of the hospital.

My hands are ice on the scar, fingers slightly round, slightly too large, poking at the string, feeling along the knots of it. It seemingly spells out 'davis' a curse. A blessing. An imagined nothing. They are merely stitches, but truly, his name is there, spelled out forever and ever in my skin. Branding me, mine, mine, mine, his repeated mantra as my hands struggled for purchase in the blankets. His hands are wide one on my hid, clutching, clutching, oh! How enthralled he must have been with me. His other hand in on the shoulder, keeping me down, down, be careful, William, I tell myself.

Banish such thoughts from your mind, from your heart. You cannot afford such weakness! But I don't. I picture his face, eyes crinkled in his lust, in his longing. The burning of wide fingers and the softness of lip to flesh. Wine coloured bruises that litter my chest, the large bite mark over my left nipple. All healed now, of course. Forget, William. Forget, forget. Do not let him trap you. But it is too late. I am already hidden

"Mister?" And still there is more? Blood upon blood? I turn to face a child. He is but three, lost, wanting his mama. He has those big blue eyes, that serious, drawn face. He is a child of Davis.

"Charlie?" I guess. He had three sons. Three, one, and newborn. I guess right. He stands at barely my calf, watching me in the mirror with his little eyes, deeming me safe.

"You're William." I last saw him when he just walking, tiny feet thrusting him forward, over carpet and tile. I did not know he could recall.

"I am." He watches me, still.

"Does that hurt?" He is pointing to the injury.  
"It did." There is nothing wrong with telling the truth to a child. "But more, it hurts in here." I put a splayed hand on my chest, over my heart. He mimics. He is about to say something when his mother hurries in.

She is not unattractive, but more so, she was competent, which was, I think, why he chose her. She looked and me and I know she knows. And she hates me. In her eyes, she is telling me this is the last I will ever see her son and I want to ask her how she intends to stop me but I don't.  
"Charlie!" She said, and looking at his mother, between the slayer and the slain, he picks me, wrapping his small arms around my leg.

"I'm sorry." My confessional, my blessing, my cursing of God and all above, my pleading for absolution, me, on my knees, begging for forgiveness. Her eyes were grey as steel. Alas, dear heart, you will live with what you did. I put a hand in Charlie's soft curls, a comfort, a support, and I tell him something I will always regret. "Go to your mother, she needs you." He released his small arms, and looked at me one last time, before taking her hand and leaving.

I am alone.

Again.


End file.
